Of Black Dogs and Silver Raccoons
by thebluefrenchhorn
Summary: "Darling, you should know more than anyone else that insanity doesn't happen overnight."


**Of Black Dogs and Silver Raccoons**

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 _"Darling, you should know more than anyone else that insanity doesn't happen overnight."_

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 _2015_

Her eyes, wide with amazement, and her hair, an ebony flurry of curls, and nothing else really matters because magic is real and she's going to Hogwarts to learn all about it. Her mother is fretting over her, her brother's head whipping from side to side, trying to take it all in, and her father has a wicked gleam in his eyes — he's a neurologist, a brilliant one, but perhaps a little mad at times.

She can't help but notice how eyes seem to follow their little family with something akin to confusion and awe. They trace over their distinctively normal clothes, or at least normal in her eyes, as compared to the weird robes everybody else seems to be wearing — wizards and witches indeed. For the first time in her life, she feels truly important, so while her family is enraptured by the train station, eyes darting to every surface and looking so very out of place, she holds her head high. After all, first impressions are important.

In half an hour, she meets a boy who she just feels like she should remember from somewhere, but can't, and maybe it's because where the messy jet black hair and wide hazel eyes are should be ivory skin and mischievous gray eyes.

"I'm James Sirius Potter," he tells her, and for one second she freezes because the name Sirius just seems to fit him and there's this creeping sense of déjà vu.

"Arrakis Bellatrix Black," she says in response, and when they shake hands and olive skin that should be ivory touches ivory and hazel eyes that should be gray meet blue that should be gray as well, a whole new wave of déjà vu washes over them once again.

 _1998_

She's insane. Her skin is littered with cuts and her hair is a mess and there's this little voice in her head, telling Bellatrix to torture her.

She will torture her, and its maniacal laughter that fills the air as Nymphadora Lupin spasms on the ground. She stops and giggles, her hands clapping together with glee, because if Bellatrix can't get revenge on Andromeda, her daughter is the next best thing.

"Wittle Belly isn't so weak after all," she shrieks, dropping to her knees and cradling the head of her niece. Just for a moment, she is reminded of what she could have had, if she had not given it away, but when grey eyes meet dark brown—Andy's eyes—her insanity crashes down once more. "Belly isn't the weak one anymore and she's going to kill you!"

Nymphadora Lupin's life is ended with a cutting charm to the stomach. A Killing Curse would have been too kind.

Later, she tries to kill Molly Weasley and she can't because she's so very insane, not because she didn't try, and she really does want to kill the weasel, but only because she's jealous. Molly Weasley had the one thing that Bellatrix did not — a family.

As her life is ended everything is very red…red…red… and she's going to be dead…dead…dead… and she's wishing for gray…gray…gray… and words that she's forgotten to say…say…say….

 _1996_

Sirius is thinner. It's a pity about Azkaban; he was such a handsome man. But his eyes are the same. They're haunted, but as they face off, a spark of his old self emerges and Bellatrix is caught in nostalgia.

Their exchange is quick and wild and the epitome of Black. She giggles as the insults are thrown and spins and twirls out of the way — it's the dance they never got to have. The curses that fly by her are dark — very, very dark — and she's consumed by a twisted sense of irony. Sirius has always been running from who he is and she's always been chasing after what she's not.

She wants to kill him because this is all truly his fault, but at the same time she can't bear to lose him. In the end, the choice is decided for her and she watches, frozen in place, as her stunner, for once not a Killing Curse, sends him tumbling back into the veil. Maniacal laughter replaces her giggling from before and any ounce of sanity that she once had has been utterly obliterated.

The Potter brat tries to kill her because he loved Sirius — she killed Sirius because she loved him as well.

 _1981_

Alice Longbottom isn't going to die. Bellatrix doesn't want her dead — she wants her insane. She wants Alice to have to live without the aid of her mind, to feel the pain of never being able to raise her child. Bellatrix wants her to feel the pain that Alice has caused her. It's only coincidental that her son is the other prophecy child.

When she is on trial, she declares the love she carries for the cause and the power of Voldemort. The declaration is no more than a bundle of lies. Bellatrix didn't torture the Longbottom's for the Dark Lord. She tortured them for revenge.

Later when she sees Sirius in his cell, one that's directly across from her own, she mockingly pretends to raise a glass of champagne. Her lips are a dark red, cutting across her pale skin, and they curl as she speaks.

"Long live the Blacks."

 _1980_

Bellatrix Black doesn't cry. Bellatrix Lestrange does.

She cries, and cries, and cries, sniffling as she curls into a ball on the recently polished marble floor. Her sister, dear Narcissa, has her arms wrapped around her body as it heaves with sobs, silent tears falling from her eyes as well. She may have lost a daughter, but Narcissa also lost a niece.

Her tears turn into a fit of hiccupping laughter, a bout of madness, when the mediwitch informs her that the curse has destroyed her womb along with the child. She'll never be able to have children again.

Alice Longbottom will pay.

Later, when she is wrapped in silk sheets in her chambers, she dreams of another child she has lost. A child with ink black hair, mischievous gray eyes, and a crooked smile. A child that she chose to give away.

 _1979_

She's getting married to Rodolphus Lestrange. He isn't a terrible choice; he's rather good looking, and he's a wealthy pureblood, but as she walks to the altar, her inky black curls in an elaborate twist and her dress and skin gleaming in the moonlight, which she's always wanted — a midnight wedding, she can't help but feel like something's missing.

When she turns to stare at Rodolphus, it hits her and she finds herself wishing for inky black hair, and crooked smiles, not the refined dark brown hair and green eyes that greet her. But before she knows it, the vows have been said and they're kissing. She can't help but dislike the soft kiss that Rodolphus gives her; she desires a passionate embrace and the tang of cigarette smoke.

At the back of the wedding sits a large, bear-like dog with one sole tear dripping down its face.

 _1978_

Her seventh year at Hogwarts has been hell. The cause has drained her, as have N.E.W.T.s, and dealing with pureblood politics. But in public she doesn't let it show.

As she sits in the Great Hall, casually seated at the head of the Slytherin table, with her eyes lazily tracing across the faces of future political partners, she is a sight to behold. She is the apex predator, and this is not just the graduation of a student, but the departure of a queen.

While the Slytherins eye each other, attempting to calculate who will become the new ruling monarch, the Gryffindors whoop and holler. They may have come in last in the House Cup, but this is the end of an era — the Marauders' Era.

Two so very different worlds seem to collide as gray eyes meet from across the tables. Bellatrix quirks an eyebrow as Sirius raises a glass of pumpkin juice towards her in an attempt to toast to their departure — she returns the favor. The exchange is witnessed by only a pair of twinkling blue eyes.

 _1977_

They're learning about Amortentia in potions today and all she can smell is cigarette smoke, fire pits, and something dark and crisp that she can only describe as midnight. On the other side of the room, Sirius leans down to smell his and she watches in interest as he suddenly jerks backwards. Something's spooked cousin dearest.

She finds out what freaked him out so much when he corners her in the hall later that day. She is making her rounds as prefect and it is well past curfew when he appears seemingly out of nowhere, dragging her into a secret passage. For a brief moment she is about to ask him how he found her, but her voice dies as she hears him speak.

"What the hell did you do to me?" Sirius snarls angrily, his wand pointed at her throat and his free hand locking her wrists above her head. His eyes are a hurricane of grey as he stares down at her. "Why did I smell you in that damn potion?"

A smirk slides onto her face, and despite the fact that she's clearly at a physical disadvantage, they both know she's the one in control. "Is this a love confession, Siri?" His childhood nickname slides off her tongue with ease and she catches the dark glare he shoots her. "Your mother would be so proud that you're following in her footsteps. Incest has always been your side of the family's thing, hasn't it?"

"Shut up, Bellatrix!" He shouts, and her smirk falters at his disuse of her nickname. Oh right, they're fighting aren't they, because all his friends are telling him she's a Death Eater. Well, they aren't wrong.

"Really Siri, I am flattered." Sarcasm oozes into her voice and she's trying to hide how his statement truly makes her feel. "But I prefer men with more class."

There's a moment of silence between the two before Sirius, in all of his reckless Gryffindor pride, crashes his lips down upon hers. In that moment it's just the two of them, and ivory blends with ivory, inky black mixing with inky black, and every exchange, every glance, every thought has led up to this escapade in the tight, dark passageway.

They pull away panting with swollen lips, and aching hearts. "Do you love me?" he asks her.

Her silence answers for her.

She doesn't return to the Slytherin dormitories that night.

She later disappears for three weeks during the summer, and tells her family she's on an important Death Eater mission. She returns missing a heart — it was left on the porch of a muggle house with a baby boy who doesn't have one ounce of magic.

The only thing left was three words:

Rigel Castor Black.

 _1976_

Fifth year is like the calm before the storm.

She's slowly growing apart from Sirius, who seems to be at the high of his life, pranking people during the day and shagging girls by night. A twisted part of her wants to be one of those girls, and it really shouldn't be all that surprising to her. The Blacks have always been a rather twisted family. She wonders briefly if she inherited the family madness.

It is during the summer that the storm arrives. Sirius, ever at odds with his mother, leaves the house in the form of fiendfyre, cursing their names and leaving destruction in his wake.

He refused to take the dark mark, and so she takes it instead of him. Her gray eyes, eyes that know everyone's secrets, meet those of the Dark Lords, and a sadistic smirk spreads across her face. She knows he approves, after all, Bellatrix Black is a people person and she delivers what they want.

 _1975_

She spends her fourth year meeting Sirius around the castle in her spare time and sharing stories with him. Their favorite thing to talk about is one Potter heir and his obsession with a certain Gryffindor Mudblood.

"It's so ridiculous that it's almost funny," Sirius says, rolling his grey eyes, "He's tried to impress her with everything!"

"Everything?" She asks, because everything is a lot of things, and usually there's always a minority. "Has he tried his title?"

Sirius shoots her a confused glance, and she has to remind herself once again that despite being a member of the Black family, Sirius is a Gryffindor with very limited political experience.

"I mean has he told her that he's the heir of a rather wealthy and powerful family." She explains.

"Why do you think that would change things?" Sirius asks her and she smirks because now she can explain and explaining things is something she's always been good at. There was a reason she was sorted into Slytherin.

"Evans wants to be remembered. She desires to be important; that's why she tries so hard in classes and always sounds like she's regurgitating textbooks. She's no more intelligent than the rest of us, and if you actually check the class standings she's only cracked the top ten of the year for potions and charms." She pauses, assessing Sirius's facial expression before continuing, "You're beating her in every class but potions, which you're dreadful at. But people think she's smarter than you because while you joke around and prank during class, she's the one answering all of the questions."

Sirius blinks. "So she wouldn't want James…she'd want what James could give her."

"Precisely Siri, she wants to be important…to have power…to prove people wrong — and becoming the lady of a pureblood house would do exactly that for her."

"Why do know so much about her, Bella?" His eyes are shining with the curiosity and mystery-craving look that she has learned to associate with the Gryffindor house and she smirks as she delivers her ending line.

"Because you and I used to be exactly like her." Silently, she adds, "But you still are," because while Bellatrix may be on her road to becoming great, Sirius is still desperately searching for his own.

 _1974_

It is during her third year that she encounters a boggart. She is the eighth in the class to go and expects the whole ordeal to be a walk in the park. After all, she is Bellatrix Black, a prodigal girl who has been at the top of her class for two consecutive years.

Everything crumbles when a cloaked creature with spindly, scabbing, gray hands appears before her. It is cold — so very cold — and she collapses onto her knees, hands clutching her head as she sees unimaginable horrors flash before her eyes. She can't cast the spell, she can't even think coherently, and so the Slytherin's Defense Against the Dark Arts class is cut short by the mad ramblings of Bellatrix Black. Nobody realizes that this is an omen of the future.

Later when she has calmed down, all of the pieces seem to click in place. She fears having a weakness, hence she fears fear itself. But, even fear can be overcome, and the Blacks have always been mad geniuses, so what she does next isn't really that surprising.

By the end of school year she can perform the Patronus charm. Calculating gray eyes gaze at the large, bear-like dog that bounds around her and subconsciously she knows her fate's been sealed. Bellatrix may not have the soul of a dog, but the thing that she loves the most in the world might.

It is eighteen years later that a boggart once again appears as a Dementor for a child and tears fill blue eyes, for once devoid of a twinkle, for a child who threw her future away.

 _1973_

While Sirius plays pranks, she plays people. They come flocking to her, enraptured by her pretty smile and soothing voice. What they don't know is that behind all those pretty smiles is a sly smirk and underneath her soothing voice, undertones carry the promise of revenge.

They approach her wide-eyed and ever so innocent, asking her, "Can you keep a secret?"

She hides her smirk, and stares at them with dark gray eyes that shine with the secrets of so many people, but never her own, because if eyes are the window to the soul, then she must be soulless. "Of course I can."

So while Sirius collects detentions, she collects secrets. She knows things people can't even imagine, and it makes her feel powerful, because you have a lot of control over people when you know their deepest, darkest secrets.

She knows that Remus Lupin is a werewolf and that the whole Gryffindor house, with the exception of Alice Smith and Dorcas Meadows, think Lily Evans is an annoying know-it-all. She's heard all about Lucius Malfoy asking for a betrothal between her sister and himself and she knows Andromeda is in a relationship with a Mudblood — that was her favorite secret.

"Did you tell anybody?" Andromeda asks her after Bellatrix finds her sneaking out of the house to meet muggleborn Ted Tonks.

"Of course not," she replies, grabbing a dark red lipstick off her vanity and applying it. She loves the way it cuts across her ivory skin and gently sets it to the side — it'll be perfect for the Lestrange's gala. Her eyes flicker to the mirror where Andromeda's worry-filled dark brown eyes meet hers. "I'd never do anything like that to you sister dearest. After all, you've always been there for me…haven't you?"

The next day their mother receives an anonymous note taped to the daily mail. It spills all of Andromeda's dirty little secrets, even the one that Andromeda didn't think Bellatrix knew — Bellatrix is going to be an aunt.

Andromeda disappears from the house that night like usual, except this time she doesn't return. She's blasted off the family tapestry in the morning and Bellatrix doesn't hide the smirk that slides onto her face.

Weeks later, she wears the lipstick to the gala. Rodolphus Lestrange compliments her; she smirks because she knows he has a thing for her.

 _1972_

Her hair is a beautiful mess of tumbling ebony locks and her eyes a swirling storm of gray and she's the picture perfect representation of how a pureblood should look. Nobody knows that she's dying inside.

Sirius is grinning cheekily beside her, his arm casually thrown over her shoulder and she knows that purebloods shouldn't act like that, but Sirius is different — he's special. He takes long strides, his free arm gesturing wildly, as he excitedly proclaims all the things they'll be doing together at Hogwarts.

He doesn't know that she's hanging off his every word, trying to delude herself into believing whatever adventure he fashions for the two of them. But, it's no use really, because the inevitable is going to eventually happen.

Sirius is a renegade, a revolutionary with a burning spirit so bright that it really doesn't belong in the darkness of Grimmauld Place. There's really only one house that he's destined for — and it's not Slytherin.

Just before they board the train, she pulls him to the side, nervously biting her lip as she stared at him. "Can you promise me something Siri?"

He nods earnestly, his eyes sparkling with mischief, as he replies, "Anything for my partner in crime."

"Can you promise me that no matter what house we get in, we'll stay best friends?" Her heart is pounding and there are tears pricking at her eyes, but she's not going to cry — Blacks don't cry.

"I promise," he replies. "No one can replace you Bella." His voice is sincere and her composure is crumbling and almost mechanically she turns around, preparing to board the train. She's not going to cry, she's not going to cry, she's not going to cry, she's not going to cry…

She doesn't cry, but she wishes she had — it'd be so much nicer than the empty feeling she has as Sirius whoops and hollers his way to the Gryffindor table, fist-pumping and making a huge spectacle as he settles himself beside a bespectacled boy with messy black hair.

By the end of the year he's replaced her with James Potter.

 _1971_

Mother is revoltingly obvious and Bellatrix is swamped with relief that she'll be departing for Hogwarts next year. It had been amusing at first, seeing her mother attempting to set her up with fellow pureblood children, but now it was just irritating. She had crossed the line when she attempted setting her up with Antonin Dolohov, a man ten years her senior.

The Dolohov's may have been close allies to the Rosiers, but Bellatrix is no Rosier. She is as Black as the blood that runs through her veins and as dark as the name implies and she refuses to be married off to a man twice her age.

She quickly explains her predicament to Sirius, whose hands become tight fists at the thought.

"So what are you going to do about it?" he asks her, his eyes no longer contain their usual mischievous gleam, but instead a sadistic glint. As much as he denied at, Sirius was just as much of a Black as his family was, herself included.

"What makes you think I have a plan?" she drawls, her hands lazily tracing patterns on the back of Sirius' palm. "I could just be venting, you know."

Sirius shakes his head, and a smirk graces his face. "No, you always have a plan. I should know; you're my partner in crime after all."

She lets out a tiny giggle and a small smile, one that is reserved solely for Sirius, graces her features as she responds, "I suppose you're right. I was thinking a prank may scare him away."

Sirius lights up like a Wand-Lighting charm at her words. "Are you thinking the Death-to-Harpy Prank?" he asks her excitedly, referring to an elaborate prank they had been planning to use on his mother.

She nods her head in response. "So I was thinking we could ask Narcissa to get the supplies, you know she has…"

At the next pureblood gala, Antonin Dolohov's wizarding robes transform into muggle, woman clothing and he begins to dance and sing about his love for Mudbloods.

Her mother doesn't try to set Bellatrix up with him again.

 _1970_

Her debut into the pureblood elite is dark and dangerous and shrouded in mysteries. Predatory eyes follow her every move, daring her to slip-up and inquiring why she has been kept hidden from society up until then.

The old Bellatrix would have cowered, slinking off into the shadows of others to hide. But she isn't that Bellatrix anymore, and she holds her head high, stormy gray eyes piercing the gaze of others and a vicious smirk spreading across her face.

People come up to greet her, as if testing the waters, and she talks politely to them, lies falling from her lips with ease. She may have been thrown into the snake pit, but Bellatrix is a raccoon and snakes cower beneath raccoons — it's only a matter of time before people realize this as well.

Later, when they are all seated down to dine, Lady Parkinson's hair suddenly falls out. The dark chocolate strands land on the floor and table around the Latino woman who clutches her bald head in absolute mortification.

The two heads of the Parkinson family quickly depart after the incident and Bellatrix's eyes are gleaming with vindictive glee as she watches their reputation go down in flames.

Nobody knows that Lady Parkinson insulted Bellatrix earlier.

 _1969_

Her eyes pour over the books before her, devouring the words with earnest glee. They are dark words that make dark spells and they smother her in glorious darkness as she attempts to cast them underneath her covers at night, an oil lamp by her side.

The child wand she is using isn't strong enough to handle the spells, so she tosses it to the side, attempting to cast them wandless. She is not disappointed as she watches sparks leave her fingers, tingling with a treacherously beautiful feeling.

Everything is hard for her — but not magic. Magic is natural, magic is easy.

They say dark magic comes with a price — that it destroys one's heart — but Bellatrix's heart was shattered years ago and she relishes the feeling that washes over her. No, dark magic doesn't drain Bellatrix. Instead, it makes her stronger.

She pauses, thinking of all the spells she can show Sirius and Narcissa tomorrow. They'd be so proud of her, unlike the rest of her family.

She glowers at the thought of her parents and her eyes glint with sadistic joy as her spells become more powerful.

Love almost killed her, but hate…hate is her redemption.

 _1968_

Laughter cuts through the silence of Grimmauld Place like a knife slicing through butter. It's a mixture of giggles and barking and the scuffling of feet as she races down the hallway, attempting to make her breakaway. Sirius is right behind her, his toes catching the back of her heels as they launch themselves into his room.

"That…was…wicked!" he exclaimed while plopping himself down on his bed.

She nods her head in agreement, joyfully remembering the image of a paint bomb, courtesy of Narcissa, splattered Regulus Black.

"It was, like…BAM! He never saw it coming!" Sirius proclaims, hair whipping from side to side as he wildly attempted to reenact his younger brother's reaction.

"We should prank him again!" she suggests, her voice no longer weak from disuse. She's stronger now, thanks to Sirius, but it doesn't matter to her parents — they just sent her off to stay at Grimmauld Place…no need for a second backup daughter, apparently.

Sirius nods enthusiastically at her statement, eyes gleaming with excitement as he flashed her, his trademark smile. "Partners in crime?" he asks her mischievously.

"Partners in crime," she responds."Forever, and always."

 _1967_

She's biting her lip, her mouth filling with the metallic taste of blood, wondering why in the world she ever agreed to this. Her legs are so weak and so wobbly and she's terrified they're going to collapse right underneath her at any second.

"You're doing great!" Sirius cheers, his arms waving madly in his excitement. "You've almost made it to the opposite side of the room!"

She grumbles underneath her breath as she keeps pushing forward, every step filling her with fatigue and reminding her of what a sickly child she is — but not anymore, because Sirius is going to help her get stronger.

She suddenly finds herself pitching forward, her legs crumbling underneath her like the strings of a puppet being cut. Arms wrap around her before she can hit the ground, and she's suddenly pulled into a tight hug by Sirius.

"It's okay, you're safe now," he tells her calmly and she doesn't realize until then that she had been shaking. "I'll always protect you."

 _1966_

She's all broken shards of a cracked mirror and peeled chips of paint and so very insignificant. She's been all but forgotten, stowed away in a castle of glass and waiting for her prince to come and rescue her. Except her castle's really not all that pretty and she's just a sick, little, girl and no prince would ever want to save her.

A prince never comes, but a boy does.

He comes flying in, dark hair wild and pale cheeks flushed, as he slams her door shut. A bark-like laughter resounds in the small room and it's so loud and so contagious that she finds herself joining in.

His head whips around to face her and mischievous, gray eyes meet her own. His smile is crooked and his head tilted ever so slightly to the side in confusion — like a dog — and there's just something about him that draws her in.

His voice is warm and passionate and crackles ever so slightly like a log fire. "My parents don't love me either," he remarks, the randomness of his statement catching her off guard.

"M-my parents l-l-love me," she says faintly, her voice no louder than a feather drifting through the wind. "They're j-just w-waiting for me to g-get stronger." She knows it's a lie — she's known for a while, but it feels better believing they actually care about her.

"Yeah, and my mom doesn't scream like a harpy," he responds sarcastically, casually moving to sit on her bed. "I'm your cousin Sirius, you know."

"My cousin?" she asks hesitantly, and she recalls hearing about him from her parents when they used to visit her.

"Yeah, but you can refer to me as your most favorite person in the world if you want." His eyes are sparkling with mischief and he's giving her a crooked smile and he's so ridiculous that she can't help but start giggling.

Every person gets a miracle in their life — Sirius Black was hers.

 _1965_

Her parents barely visit her anymore and when they do she wishes they hadn't. It's all Andromeda this and Andromeda that and 'Why can't you be more like Andromeda, Bellatrix?'

It doesn't help that Andromeda is the epitome of prefect, or so she has heard. After all, why would somebody as perfect as Andromeda visit her sickly little sister?. Though she's never seen her, she's been told enough to know she's gorgeous with her ivory skin, luxurious inky locks, and dark brown eyes. It's left unspoken that Bellatrix would look just like that if she were not so very ill.

But, Andromeda's perfection doesn't stop at her looks. No, she's ranked sixth in her class and has perfect manners and composure. Their parents couldn't be prouder — marriage contracts will be swamping the manor soon.

Andromeda could become a Malfoy, an Avery, or a Lestrange — Bellatrix would be lucky to be married off to a Crabbe or Gaunt.

It is then, at four years of age, that she decides that she truly hates Andromeda. She knows that she'll never hate anyone more than she hates her eldest sister…not even a Mudblood.

 _1964_

She's a tiny child, all skin and bones, with wild black hair that's much too large for her body, and eyes of a dreamer. She's all fragile like porcelain, and weak like a baby bird, and what she wants most in the world is for her parents to love her. But they don't, because she's too weak and so sickly, and such a disgrace to The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black.

She stays cocooned in her bed because she's really far too weak to leave it and her heart breaks every day that her mummy and daddy don't come to visit her. She knows why they don't love her. She's a Black, and Blacks are supposed to be powerful and beautiful and everything she's not.

Years later, people will whisper about how she has never loved. They don't realize how wrong they are, because Bellatrix has loved — she's just had her heart shattered one to many times.

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 **Disclaimer:** All rights reserved to the original creators.

 **Author's Note:** Thank you so much for putting the time into reading this!

 **Reviews are always welcome! (I love hearing about your opinions on the story)**


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